


Don't It Feel Good

by dandyqueen



Series: fire in the blood [2]
Category: The Last of Us
Genre: F/M, passers-though, shameless smut y'all know how this works, soft smut, touchy-feely smut, trading posts, uhhh it's more sex with joel so enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25677223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandyqueen/pseuds/dandyqueen
Summary: It’s round two visiting Jackson, Wyoming, and this time, you get to stay for breakfast. And yeah, you brought Joel some more coffee. Be kind of rude not to, right?(Can be read as a standalone, but, like, why would you want to? Go read Slow Hand first - there's more smut if you do.)
Relationships: Joel (The Last of Us)/Original Character(s), Joel (The Last of Us)/Original Female Character(s), Joel (The Last of Us)/Reader
Series: fire in the blood [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1861858
Comments: 19
Kudos: 152





	1. lips burnin' like fire

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, uh, so ya know how I said back in part one that y’all are scared to suck this man’s dick?
> 
> Y’all must be scared to ride his face, too. Don’t worry, I fixed that.

It’s been six months since the last time you came to Jackson, but unlike the last time, Jackson’s not your final stop. Don’t misunderstand, Jackson is an important stop, but you’re on your way up to Montana to meet a contact at the Canadian border. Your work never stops, and you’ve got business to take care of once you leave.

You give yourself a week in Jackson this time instead of three days. You figure that a week is more than enough time to trade for what your people back in Nevada need and then some. Half of your group is going with you to Montana; the other half tagged along to have fun in Jackson for a week. It’s the same group you brought along last time, and you had to listen to them all brag about the three days they spent living it up in a real town (none of their stories compared to yours, of course). Since they’re all making the trip back, it’ll be easy to send everything home with the half of your group that’s not following you to Montana.

The first two of days after you arrive in Jackson, you’re too tired to do anything more strenuous than barter for necessities. Your group had a rough time getting past the guards at the front gate the first day, which you find strange. Not six months ago, they were waving your group through like old friends coming home. But there’s no time to relax just yet, so you plow on through the day to ensure that everything gets done. Once you get everything squared away, you leave the delivery back in the hands of the half of your group heading back to Nevada. 

The third day, you ask for Joel. That’s how you figure out that something must have happened because this time, no one will even tell you whether he’s in Jackson. It’s not just the first couple of people who give you a problem. Time and time again, at every single trading stop, you ask for Joel and get a curt rebuff. _No idea what you’re talking about_. _Couldn’t tell you about him even if I wanted to_. And you know these are the same people who were more than willing to tell you _he’s around here somewhere_ last time you were here. 

It leaves you feeling a little concerned that something may have happened, so you spend the rest of the day trading and eavesdropping for any sign of him. Still, you get nothing, and you return to your group that night feeling unnerved.

The fourth day in Jackson, you find Maria. Or rather, she finds you. Thankfully, she recognizes you.

You’re down at the little bar in the middle of town, fighting your way through a sandwich you don’t really want when she takes a seat next to you. You turn to her, startled, but you figure if someone is going to tell you what happened around here to put everyone on edge, it’s probably her.

“I heard this morning that someone has been asking around for Joel,” Maria says. She waves the owner over to order herself a water. “I came to see what it was about and found your group down at the dorms.”

“Yeah, I got some funny looks when I asked for him. What’s going on?” You put down your sandwich (it’s turkey - you’re not a fan). You try to hide the concern in your voice, even knowing that you’re doing a pretty poor job of it. “Did something happen?”

“You could say that,” Maria says, but she doesn’t elaborate much further than to say, “Some pretty bad folks came through about a week after you left, caused some trouble. We’ve been a little wary of passers-through since then.”

“I noticed.”

Maria sips her drink while she waits for you to finish your sandwich (it’s slow going because, ugh, turkey, but it’s what the bar had). “The only reason the guards at the gate let you through is because they recognized your group from the last time you were here and remembered you’re from down south.”

“I’m guessing the group that caused problems wasn’t?”

“They were from Seattle.”

“Right,” you say. “Never been more glad to live in the desert.”

You’re familiar with the mess going on up in the northwest. You’ve heard even all the way down in Nevada that Seattle was rough, but it was nothing compared to what you heard went down in Portland and Salem. In fact, it’s not just those few cities - all of both Oregon and Washington got slammed with the cordyceps harder than almost anywhere besides South America. You’ve personally prohibited anyone in your settlement from going anywhere near the northwest.

“Well, I hate that I caused a scare,” you say, sensing that Maria’s not going to elaborate on what exactly happened. You don’t blame her – if it’s that bad, you’d want to forget it, too. You push your plate to the side, having given up on the sandwich. There’s not enough water in the world to get that thing down. “But I do have something for Joel, if you’re alright with me asking for him.”

Maria looks at you from over the rim of her glass, almost coyly. “Coffee?”

It’s an innocent question - one that Maria has every right to ask. But it’s the way she says it that gives you the hint that, well, it seems like you’ve been snitched on. 

You chuckle, but you can feel your face heating up. “It’s coffee, yes.”

Maria smiles - it’s a sweet smile, a knowing smile. It’s the kind of smile that an older sister might give to a younger one. “Don’t worry, Joel’s a gentleman. He didn’t kiss and tell. My husband is his brother. Seems like he was in an abnormally good mood the morning your group left, so Tommy kind of worked it out for himself.”

You can’t really help the wash of pride pooling down in your stomach, but it’s there, and it leaves you feeling a little over-eager. You reply, “Glad he was in a good mood.”

“That’s been rare as of late, I’ll tell you that. Times are tough around here,” Maria says. “But I think he’ll be glad to see you.”

You look down at your hands. You’re not really sure how to answer. For one thing, after the welcome you’ve received over the past few days, you hadn’t expected Maria to sit down with you like you’re a familiar face around town. These people are awfully close to one another, you think, and that speaks well of them. 

For another thing, you’re pretty pleased by what Maria’s told you. Clearly, Joel had as good of a time as you did. She’s definitely not telling you the whole story about what’s going on, but you have a strange feeling you’re going to find out anyway.

“How about this,” Maria says once she figures out that you don’t have a reply for her, “I’ll come grab you once he’s done with his watch shift and walk you over so you’re not wandering around. That okay?”

You nod. “That’ll be fine.”

* * *

Maria makes good on her promise and takes you to Joel. You’re not heading to a watchtower this time; Maria is leading you right back to Joel’s house. You remember the way, but you figure you must have aroused some suspicions around town by asking questions. It’s probably the safe thing to do to have her walk you there.

When Joel answers the door, a smile splits his face like you’ve never seen coming from a man. You think you might be a little bit in love with that smile and that scares you, so you squash the feeling down as quickly as it surges up into your throat. He looks good – as if there was ever a doubt he would. His hair is a little more gray than last time, and he’s drowning in layers of clothes because it’s cold, but he’s absolutely perfect.

Sensing that her presence is no longer necessary, Maria makes a timely exit. She’s already decided just from the look on Joel’s face that if you ask to stay in Jackson, she’ll let you.

Once Maria is gone, Joel lets you pull him into a hug. He holds you close just a few seconds too long, and you wish he’d let you stay there against his chest for the rest of the night when he eventually pulls away. He motions for you to follow him into the living room. 

You didn’t pay attention to the living room last time. It’s all wood, a little bare, but there’s a fire in the grate and the room looks cozy in the orange light. The two ceramic jars from last time have been placed on the edge of his mantle, and you can’t fight the swell of affection ballooning in your chest. You’re not quite sure how he wormed his way into your heart so quickly, but he’s definitely there.

Something’s not quite right, though, and it doesn’t take you long to catch what it is.

The first thing you notice is that he’s limping. It’s not a _twisted-my-ankle-on-patrol_ or _didn’t-listen-when-someone-told-me-not-to-overdo-it_ kind of limp. It’s a _serious-injury-with-serious-repercussions_ kind of limp. Though he hasn’t mentioned anything yet, context clues tell you that this is the product of whatever happened when the other group passed through.

You try not to look down and give the impression you’ve noticed, and you try not to let the concern show on your face, but you’ve never been good at hiding your expressions. 

The second thing you notice is that, in addition to the scar on his nose you noticed last time, he’s got a couple new ones. They’re mostly hidden by his beard, but you can see the edge of a particularly deep one peeking out from the gray hairs at his left temple. You’re not quite sure how you missed that when he opened the door (it might have something to do with that smile).

Joel notes the concern on you face, and his answering look is soft - something close to regret. There’s a tiredness to him that you didn’t anticipate, and it’s deep-set in his bones like the winter chill. It’s not defeat, just exhaustion. You guess that this is what Maria meant by his good moods being rarer these days.

This time, you don’t make him wait for the coffee. You grab one of the canisters from your bag (you brought two again - larger than the last pair) and hand it to him. His face lights up again, and there’s that swell of affection creeping up your throat again.

“Brought it special for you,” you say, “straight from Mexico. A more direct delivery, you won’t find anywhere else.”

“Don’t suppose you want another guitar?” Joel asks, teasing. He sits down on the couch and leaves the container on the table in front of him (well within sight, you notice). Maybe this container will make it onto the mantle, too.

“Nope,” you say, sitting down across from him on his couch. It’s an old couch, soft and threadbare - the perfect napping couch. “It’s a gift.”

You catch his eye and give him a sly smile. “But I won’t say no to some company for the night.”

You expect him to get flustered like last time, but that is decidedly not his reaction, much to your surprise. Seems he’s feeling pretty bold, because he gives you the kind of look that makes you want to straddle him right here on the couch. 

“One condition.”

You cock your head. “Okay?”

He nudges you with his shoulder. “You have to stick around for breakfast this time.”

Oh, well, you can certainly do that. “Done.”

Joel gets quiet as he settles in because he’s not the talkative type and still notoriously bad at small talk. That’s fine, though. You’re perfectly content to simply sit on his comfy couch and enjoy his presence. You curl up against his side and loop your arms around his, and he scoops your legs up into his lap.

He turns on the TV to break the silence and, not for the first time since you’ve been in Jackson, you’re amazed that this place has electricity. You’re even more amazed that the TV is in proper working order (nothing will ever beat the hot, running water though). He’s got good taste in movies; you grew up watching westerns, and it’s so nostalgic that you can actually feel tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. You want to open your mouth and tell him, but you don’t want to break the silence.

Especially not when Joel slides his hand between your knees.

It’s completely innocent (eh, well, maybe not _completely_ ) - just a place to put his hand while you’re snuggled up against his side. Oh, it would be so easy to just take it from there. The ambience is perfect, with the TV going in the background, in his warm house while snow falls outside, _with his hand between your frickin’ knees_. 

Six months is a long time, okay?

But, despite your frantically fuzzy reptilian brain telling you to jump him, it doesn’t seem to be quite the right time. He hasn’t spoken, and it’s starting to seem like he wants you to say something. You have a guess as to what.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to,” you say. You take his hand - the one between your knees – and hold it in your lap. “That being said, I’ll listen if you want to.”

Joel doesn’t respond immediately, just squeezes your hand. Maybe he just needs the physical contact and the reassurance that you’re there, but whatever he needs, you’re happy to provide.

Finally, he says, and the pain in his voice breaks your heart, “The girl that shot me – I killed her daddy.”

Death is a curious topic, especially in the post-Outbreak world. It’s everywhere. It’s consuming. And sometimes it’s not the end. Whether you shoot someone, or get infected, or take your own life, it’s there. And sometimes it can’t be helped.

You lace your fingers through his. “We do what we have to do to survive.” 

“Yeah.” He sounds like he doesn’t really believe it, but if that’s the case, he doesn’t voice it. “Her group came through the week after you left. They tracked down my brother and figured I’d be here, too.”

You nod, and he continues.

“They shot me a couple times - took a good chunk out of my leg,” he says. “My… my daughter and her friends ran them off before they finished the job.”

Joel figures that’s enough of an explanation for now. Tonight is not the night to explain the how, when, and why – only where the pain is coming from and why he’s all beaten and banged up.

“Sounds like this has been weighing on you for a while,” you say. You kiss the back of his hand, lips ghosting his knuckles. You keep his hand there. “I hate that you’re hurting, but I’m glad you told me why.”

“It’s gettin’ better,” Joel replies, and that sounds like the truth. He pauses again. You’ll listen as long as he wants to talk, but that seems to be the end of what he wants to say. “Have you had dinner?”

* * *

There’s really nothing like watching a man cook, especially this man. Joel’s a pretty good cook too, not that you’d complain even if he wasn’t (you can barely make a sandwich). You pegged him as a meat-and-potatoes man, and you were absolutely right. It’s deer, you think, or maybe elk, but you don’t ask. And damn, if it’s not the best thing you’ve had to eat in weeks.

You never knew that domesticity was a thing for you, but now here you are, unreasonably turned on just watching him cook dinner. It’s probably because he’s stripped down to a t-shirt and pajama pants, and you could actually die just looking at him. He’d been wearing a flannel for most of the afternoon, but after an hour in the kitchen with the stove going, that had to come off. It’s a shame - the flannel really works for him - but the shirt underneath is great. It’s the same nearly-threadbare t-shirt as last time, and it’s only gotten thinner since. 

God, it’s so fuckin’ hard to concentrate.

Joel looks a little smug, watching you wolf down your food. You don’t have to tell him that you think it’s good - you’ve practically inhaled everything on your plate. He, on the other hand, takes his time. You’re sure he’s doing that because wants to make you wait, and he’s just enough of a tease to do it.

While you wait for Joel to finish, you put your feet up in his lap. Is it annoying? Probably. Who wants someone’s feet in their lap when they’re eating? No one. You do it because he’s been teasing you since you walked into the kitchen, and now’s the time for a little payback.

He raises a dark slash of an eyebrow at you when you drag your foot along his thigh with the express intention of distracting him. If he’s gonna take his sweet time finishing up after you’ve had to stare at him all night, you’ve got the right to make dinner equally difficult for him. You do it again, this time straying closer to his inner thigh. He rolls his eyes, though he picks up the pace. The third time you do it, you don’t stop.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says, but he looks at you with a heat in his eyes that say you’re not ridiculous at all. He catches your leg on the next pass over his thigh, keeping you still as he runs his unoccupied hand along your calve. 

“And you’re a tease,” you reply. 

Joel’s hand passes close to your knee. He knows he is, and he does it on purpose. “Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

“Teasing implies that I’m not going to finish the job.” His voice sounds the way Southern Comfort tastes – smooth and warm, like a sip of whiskey by the fire. “I’m not teasing.”

That shuts you up long enough for Joel to finish up his dinner.

You barely manage to put the dishes in the sink before Joel’s backing you up against the kitchen counter so he can kiss you. You hate leaving dishes in the sink, but you’ll just have to do the dishes in the morning - you’ve got better things to do.

Your hands scramble to find purchase somewhere, anywhere, and end up fisting his shirt. He’s leaning heavily against the counter behind you, arm wrapped around your back, hips trapping yours against the wood. The heat rolling off him is unbelievable, nearly oppressive, and you’re far too clothed for this.

You jump up onto the counter and drag him closer, unbuttoning your flannel just enough to give him room to plant kisses down your neck. He moves from your jawline all the way down to the hollow of your collarbone, sucking bruises into the tender flesh. He peppers kisses down your chest, and you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him right there, burying your face in his hair. His hands are on your hips, and you’re kind-of-sort-of hoping he’ll fuck you right here, but that’s not quite what’s on his mind. 

Joel almost can’t pull away from you, but he has to. He’s breathless, and he looks up at you like you’re the air he breathes. “Hate to cut this short, but I kind of need to sit down.”

“Got a better place in mind?”

He helps you down off the counter, and you make sure to avoid the side giving him trouble. “Several.”

“Pick one and we’ll go down the list.”

You don’t even make it out of the kitchen with all your clothes on. Your flannel gets left at the bottom of the stairs along with Joel’s shirt, your bra is _somewhere_ maybe, both sets of pants left at the bedroom door. The last thing to go is your underwear, and even that’s long gone by the time you’re climbing into Joel’s lap while he sits on the edge of the bed.

You snake your hand down between the two of you and take him in your hand, running your fingers along his length. He shudders against you as you stroke him, arms wrapping around your back to keep your steady. You twist your hand the way you remember that he likes, thumbing his head until he’s sighing your name. He twitches in your hand like he’s already close. 

Joel stops you with another kiss. “Here, lemme scoot back.”

He settles on his back closer to the head of the bed. You crawl up between his knees and relax down on top of him, careful not to put too much pressure on the side that’s troubling him. His hands skim down the length of your spine, so impossibly soft. You kiss his chest, nosing your way up to his jawline. His beard tickles your nose, and he turns to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Do me a favor?” Joel asks. His voice rumbles in his chest.

You nod. “Anything.”

“I can’t get down on my knees this time,” Joel says. His fingertips skim your sides, hands coming to rest on the small of your back. “Mind coming up to me?”

“Oh, honey, you don’t have to ask me twice.”

You do as Joel asks and let him guide you up to where he wants you. Bracing yourself on the headboard is almost not enough to keep you upright when Joel’s nose brushes your inner thigh. The tip of his tongue traces up to your slit, dipping in to taste you. His hands move from your hips to your backside, keep you steady as you tremble under his touch. You have to clap your hand over your mouth when his fingers dip into your entrance, guided along by his tongue.

You have to convince yourself not to look down, but when Joel starts pumping his fingers faster, you resolutely fail. What you find when you look - Joel eagerly eating you out like it’s the last thing keeping him tethered to life - sends you crashing to release. You tangle your fingers in his hair and bite down on your hand, knees threatening to give out. He lets you ride his face through your release, the soft strokes of his tongue leaving you warm and twitchy.

Joel helps you climb back down to rest on top of him. He’s not teasing you now, and there’s an urgency to his movements that you haven’t noticed until now. You give him just enough time to sit up and brace himself against the headboard before you take him in hand and sink down on him.

It’s an easy glide thanks to the work he’s already done, and he fills you up so perfectly it’s like he was made for you. You slide your hands up his chest and cup his face between your hands, keeping his mouth on yours while you grind down on him. He can’t quite figure out the best place to put his hands, so he settles for putting them anywhere he can reach. He palms your breasts, your hips, your backside, calluses rasping against your skin.

You finish for a second time, teeth clacking against his when you kiss him hard. The feeling of you clenching down around him sends him right to the edge, and he stops just long enough to ask you where you want him to finish. You tell him what you want and he obliges, finishing inside you.

Joel helps you ease off of him, but you stay in his lap until you think you can move again. It’s good and soft, just sitting there with him. He rubs your back, and you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him without saying a word.

Your thighs are getting sore, though, and you’re concerned about putting too much pressure on his leg, so you eventually climb down on the bed next to him. You tuck yourself under his arm and wrap your arm around his middle. It’s gotten cold as the night’s gone on, so Joel yanks the covers up over you both.

“Gonna make me coffee in the morning?” you ask, smiling against his shoulder.

He hums a yes. “As long as you don’t go running off without saying goodbye again.”

“Promise.”

It’s quiet here, and safe, and you’re really, really starting to like Jackson, Wyoming.


	2. soft way you whisper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we all gotta make choices sometimes. you do, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You 'bout to get it from the back, and I KNOW y'all ain't seen that before.

You wake up early. Like, _early_ early.

There’s not even a hint of sunlight peeking over the horizon through the bedroom window. There’s just enough light coming from the streetlamp outside to make out the objects in the room (it freaks you out for a second before you remember Jackson has electricity), but it’s still resolutely dark. It’s cold, too, and there’s just enough snow falling to accumulate on the windowsill outside.

You wake up to find Joel on his back, staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t seem like he’s been awake for long if the bleary, heavy-lidded stare is any indication, but he’s still most definitely awake. You curl up against his side and wrap your arm around his middle, cheek smushed heavily against his shoulder. 

It must have been Joel’s tossing and turning that woke you up, you figure. Joel doesn’t sleep well, always halfway to the edge of being fully awake, like he’s ready to jump and run if necessary. You noticed it last time you were here - that he tosses and turns in his sleep, that he can never seem to get comfortable, that he mumbles unintelligibly in his gravelly voice. He’s even more restless now due to the trauma to his knee.

You’ve always been a light sleeper, so it’s not surprising that his restlessness woke you. In fact, you’re a little surprised you slept up until now. He must have been tossing and turning all night - he certainly did last time.

Joel snakes his arm up under your head. His voice is low, still thick with sleep. “Didn’t mean to wake ya.”

“You’re not bothering me. I’m a light sleeper, too,” you say, yawning. You nestle into the crook of his neck and busy yourself drawing slow circles into his side through his sleep shirt. “You alright?”

Joel hums a yes. His fingertips leave a trail of goosebumps up your back that almost sting in the cold air. “Just restless.”

“Can I help with that?” you grin, nudging his chest with your chin. He laughs in that low, sleepy voice and kisses the top of your head. You keep drawing the slow circles into his side. “Are you really alright?”

Joel’s quiet for a moment. You sense the answer is no, but you won’t pry if he doesn’t want to talk about it. It’s awfully early for that anyway and cold to boot. You burrow deeper under the covers, clinging to his side for some kind of parasitic warmth while he thinks to himself. 

“Bad dream,” Joel says, finally.

You nod, hugging him a little closer. “Get them a lot?”

“Yeah,” he replies. “But it’s gettin’ better.”

You don’t press the issue since it seems like he’s done talking about it. If you had to guess, you’d bet the nightmares are a result of the past six months, but you wouldn’t bet money that it’s _just_ that. He’s exhausted from far more than just a lack of sleep and the restlessness. Trauma has left him tired, but this kind of tired comes from a life hard-lived. You think that the healing has left him tired, too.

“Promise I’m not propositioning you this time,” you say as you push up onto your forearm. The covers slip back from your shoulders and, ugh, it’s even colder now. “Need help getting back to sleep? I can go make tea or something…”

“No, I’m awake now. Won’t be going back to sleep anytime soon,” Joel says. He takes your hand - the one that’s been rubbing his side - and brings it up to his chest. “I’ll keep quiet if you wanna sleep in, though.”

“Second verse, same as the first,” you say, sinking back down under the covers. You rub slow circles into the back of his hand with your thumb. “I’m pretty well awake now.”

“Speaking of propositioning,” he says, trailing off so that he can kiss the back of your hand. His lips linger on your knuckles, his beard scratchy against the back of your hand. "We could get the day started right, if you want."

You laugh, amused by his boldness. You hadn't actually expected him to be interested so early in the morning. “Ah, so you mean coffee?”

He kisses the inside of your wrist. “Mm-hmm.”

You take the opportunity to snake your leg carefully over his and work your hand up under his shirt. He's warm and soft and a little fuzzy, and you can feel the raised scars knotting his skin. “Bacon and eggs?”

Another kiss, this time tipping your chin up to meet his. “Anything you want.”

God, he’s so fucking warm, and his lips are nice and chapped against yours. You really don’t want to break away from him long enough to pull your shirt up (well, not _your_ shirt – it’s Joel’s shirt, since you didn’t feel like going downstairs to find yours), but you do. You wouldn’t have put a shirt on in the first place, but, yeah, it’s freezing, as evidenced by the sprawling filigree of frost obscuring the window and the way your nipples prickle in the cold air. You find the hem of his shirt and pull it up so you can feel his skin on yours.

“Someone just had to put his clothes back on,” you tease, pressing your palm against his chest. It’s nice, feeling your nipples prickle against his skin; you shift up to rest against him so you drag them across his chest. The smooth slide leaves you feeling achy for his touch.

He plucks at the sleeve of your shirt. “What’s this, then?”

“Doesn’t count since it’s your shirt,” you say, catching his hand before he can move away.

You lift back up onto your elbow, and, in an effort to relieve some of the ache, guide his hand up to your chest where you want it to go. He obliges without question and takes your breast in hand, rolling your nipple under his thumb. You shift up so he doesn't have so far to go when he dips his head down to catch the other one between his teeth. He trails his tongue across the sensitive skin, humming appreciatively when goosebumps pill up under his tongue. You run your fingers through his hair in response, yours nails gently scratching his scalp.

Joel pulls away to capture your mouth again with an earnestness that tells you he's having just as much trouble breaking away from you as you are from him. Your hand fists his shirt, and you debate asking him to just take it off.

He's pressed urgently against you when you finally start to notice that he's trying not to rut against your thigh. It's... sweet, actually, that he wants to give you some relief first, so you figure you can return the favor. You reach down to the hem of his sleep shorts, drawing a lazy line from his chest to his waist.

You kiss his cheek before sliding past his waistband. “Just had to go and put on underwear, too.”

“It’s too cold not to,” Joel says softly, and the way he sighs your name when you take his cock in hand leaves you very, very warm. 

The first brush of your hand is light, your fingertips just barely running along his length to tease him, and it works beautifully. He sighs your name again, and it’s so terribly, terribly soft that it makes your heart hurt. He tilts his hips up when you wrap your hand around him and makes that same soft sigh when you thumb the head.

You need more contact, though, so you nudge him until he’s on his side leaning over you, still working him as gently as you can. His hand finds space between your legs, which requires marginally less effort on his part since you went commando for the night, again, because you didn’t want to go find your underwear. He slides the first knuckle on his finger along the line of your clit. He doesn’t dip his finger in, just strokes you the same way you’re stroking him until you’re nice and slick.

But, again, if you’re really going to get the day started right, you need more contact. Your hands shake in their urgency to get him out of his underwear. You urge him to lift his hips so you can move them out of the way. Once they’re gone, you swing your leg over his hips, and he pulls you in tight against him for another kiss.

It's the slow, easy grind Joel sets that has you melting in his hands. He doesn’t slide in, doesn’t even apply pressure, just works himself along your entrance until he’s slick from you.

You take his face in your hands, “Do me a favor?”

He runs his hands down your back. “Yeah?”

“Is it gonna bother your knee if I turn over?”

Joel raises his eyebrows, and you feel him twitch against you from your request. He shakes his head. “I’ll make it work.”

You kiss him with something akin to finality and flip over onto your front, perched up on your forearms. The bed shifts below you as he moves, his weight comforting against your back. It sends a shiver up your spine when he hovers over you, warm and solid, covering as much of you as he can. He wraps his arm around your middle, palm splayed over your stomach. With his other hand, he braces the mattress next to your head to keep himself steady. His breath is warm against the back of your neck as he mouths slow kisses along your spine.

Joel’s leaning heavily to one side to keep the weight off his knee, and you immediately feel guilty for asking him to fuck you like this. You grab his wrist - the one next to your head - to get his attention. "Hold on, hold on - get on your back and I'll-"

Joel leans down to right next to your ear. “I’m fine.”

"You sure?"

He hums a yes in that _voice_ , and you absolutely can't help the shiver that rolls down your spine and makes your cunt ache. "You ready?”

You nod, because that’s about as much as you can do with Joel pressed up against you like this.

He lines himself up and slides in, hand moving up to cup your breast. His thumb moves delicately over your nipple, almost too softly now that he’s filling you up. You push back against him, and you’re rewarded with a gentle squeeze on your hip and the same slow thrusts that you've become accustomed to. You want it harder, and you almost ask for it right before he slides his hand down to work at your clit as he pulls out and fills you up again.

You can’t help the embarrassingly loud whimper you make as a result, or the way you push back against him, or whatever it is you’re saying that makes him work you a little harder. He likes when you make that sound, you find, because he smiles against your flushed skin and pushes in a little deeper every time you do.

You’re not fighting to keep it together. Maybe if it were nighttime, right before bed, you’d work to make this last as long as possible, but it’s early and the world is still dark, and soft, and fuzzy. You relax back into him, and it’s the combination of his fingers at your clit, his cock filling you up, and the quiet prayer he makes of your name that makes you clench down on him and sends you reeling.

Joel finishes right after you, and once he’s done, he eases onto his side and adjusts the clothes he never fully took off. You completely ignore that and pull his shirt back up anyway, just because you want him close. He smiles like he thinks it’s funny and kisses your forehead, lingering there until you outright burrow into his chest.

“Next time don’t put your clothes back on,” you mumble against his throat. He smells good, like he always does.

“Says the person who’s also still in a t-shirt,” Joel replies, “because it’s cold.”

“I’ll take it off if you’ll keep me warm.”

He hums and contents himself with rubbing your back. “You gotta let me get up if you want breakfast.”

“Moving sounds like a lot of effort right now.”

“Maybe,” Joel agrees, and his voice just _drips_ with self-satisfaction when he says, “but you like watching me cook.”

“Ah, you noticed.”

He kisses your temple before he says, “I think you would’ve let me bend you over the counter if I’d asked.”

“Would you have actually done it?”

“Mhm. Right there in the kitchen.”

You press your palm to his forehead. “You sure you’re feelin’ alright? You’re awful risqué this morning.”

“If you say so.” He squeezes a good handful of your ass like he’s proving a point before kissing your forehead and climbing out of bed. “Now, come on and get breakfast.”

* * *

You grab a pair of Joel’s pajama pants because it’s cold and you don’t know where you left yours. He doesn’t seem to mind, and if he does, he doesn’t say so. You do find your bra and underwear, but, like, you’re not gonna put that on until you have to.

If last night’s dinner was good, this morning’s breakfast is even better. It smells fucking amazing in Joel’s kitchen, and you’re having a grand ol’ time doing nothing but sitting at his table and watching him cook. He hands you a cup of coffee and sips from his own cup while he watches diligently over the bacon.

It’s a little alarming that you could see this becoming your morning routine, just sitting here drinking your morning coffee while Joel makes breakfast. Sounds like a pretty great idea, honestly. You have to firmly remind yourself that you’ve got a job to do in Montana and a home to go back to in Nevada. You have people who rely on you. The realization leaves you feeling… hollow, but you shake the feeling off so it doesn’t poison your morning.

The front door opens, and you can’t say you’re surprised that Joel gets people barging into his house in the early morning (did he even lock the door last night?). You should probably be a little embarrassed that you’re drowning in his clothes, hunched over a morning cup of coffee like a little gremlin, but you’re not. It sounds like you’ve become a legend around Jackson as the girl who brings coffee if your conversation with Maria is any indication. Besides, Joel doesn’t look flustered, so you don’t feel the need to be either.

You’ve seen the girl who walks into the kitchen in the pictures dotting the house. Ellie – that’s her name. You saw it written in the corner of one of the pictures. Joel calls her his daughter, even though you’re fairly sure she’s not really his daughter. It’s probably not the right time to ask for the backstory there. 

Ellie must have seen the clothes in front of the stairs (you do feel a little embarrassed about _that_ actually), because she calls out before she sets foot anywhere else. “Joel?”

“In the kitchen!” he calls back.

Ellie stomps in, and the only way you can describe the look on her face when she sees you is smug. Smug and surprised. Is that a hint of a swirl of pride mixed in, you see? You get the feeling that Ellie doesn’t see random women sitting at Joel’s kitchen table (wrapped in his clothes) in the early morning like this often. (You’re a little proud of that.)

“Breakfast ready yet?” Ellie sits down at the table across from you. She keeps sneaking glances when she thinks you’re not looking, kind of like she’s found Bigfoot at a zoo somewhere. “It smells great.”

“Almost,” Joel replies. He catches the way Ellie’s looking at him and rolls his eyes at her smug face. “Oh, wipe that grin off your face.”

She looks at him expectantly. “Aren’t you gonna introduce me?”

Joel sighs and calls her over to the counter. He hands her a stack of plates to set the table with the order to make it look nice, but he does as she asks and introduces you in turn. “And this is Ellie.”

Ellie sets out the plates, bouncing around like she’s almost giddy. Is Joel really that lonely that half the town gets excited to see you? You really hope not – the idea of Joel being lonely makes you sad.

She sits back down across from you. “So, you’re the one who brought the coffee a few months ago?”

“That’s me,” you reply. Her energy is infectious. She makes you sound like an urban legend, and you’re kind of into it. “Brought some this time, too.”

“Did he really trade you a guitar?” she asks. You nod, and she laughs. “Sounds like something he’d do. He’d trade his soul for coffee if he could.”

Joel plates up the food and brings it over to the table, cutting in before you can respond. “Ellie, aren’t you going with Dina to the doctor this morning?”

“It’s only 7AM,” Ellie scoffs. She waits for you to load up your plate before fixing hers. “Dr. Marlow doesn’t get to the clinic until _maybe_ 10AM.”

Joel finally fixes his plate and sits down next to you. “I’m surprised to see you up so early.”

“Dina had early patrol, so I’m schmoozing for food,” Ellie replies. “Wasn’t exactly expecting you to have someone over, or I would’ve just gone down to the mess hall.”

“Wait, don’t you have patrol this morning?”

“I traded for the afternoon patrol so I can go with Dina,” Ellie explains, shrugging. She takes a bite of egg, chewing thoughtfully, before looking at you. “My girlfriend is pregnant.”

Clearly, the last six months in Jackson have been one hell of a rollercoaster. There's a backstory there, but you don’t ask. You figure it might take a while to explain. Besides, it’s not the strangest thing you’ve ever heard, not by a longshot. All you do is tell her congratulations. 

“Anyway, enough about me,” she says. She stacks up her bacon and gulps it down in one fell swoop. You like this kid, even her weird table manners. “How long are you staying?”

Joel looks at you over the rim of his coffee mug and waits on your answer. Huh, you expected him to do the dad routine and jump in. You hope he wants you to stay here with him, but you won’t ask.

“Two more days,” you reply, glancing at him. “My group leaves for Montana Sunday morning.”

“What’s in Montana?”

Joel does cut in this time. “Ellie, is that your business?”

“It’s just a question! You think I’m gonna march through the snow to Montana right behind her?”

You have to laugh. “I have a contact up at the Canadian border who owes my settlement some supplies. We usually make the run up there twice a year.”

“What kind of supplies?”

“Oh, a little bit of everything,” you reply. You push your plate out of the way, having scarfed everything down like you haven’t eaten in weeks. “Ammunition, medicine – basically anything else that’s non-perishable.”

“And you’re the one that makes the trip?”

You raise an eyebrow like it’s a silly question. “Yeah, why?”

“Aren’t you, like, kind of in charge back in Nevada?” Ellie asks. You assume by her tone that she’s not used to the people in charge doing the work like you do.

Joel looks at you strangely. Maybe you should have mentioned it? You’re not, like, the HBIC, but you do help run the settlement. You answer Ellie’s question anyway. “If you want to call it that, yeah. Where’d you hear that?”

“Oh, uh,” she looks a little sheepish now, probably in part because Joel is giving her a look that very clearly says _stop prying_ , “part of your group was at the community center last night. I overheard them talking.”

You grin. “Talking about me? Lord knows what they must have been saying.”

“All good things,” Ellie clarifies quickly, “I just didn’t know it was you and Joel they were talking about. I mean, maybe they didn’t know either…”

Joel is the one who jumps in this time, like he’s caught somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “What were they talkin’ about?”

“Uh, just that they were glad you’re,” she looks pointedly at you, “finally interested in someone…”

You snort. “Is that all they said?”

“Oh, look at the time, I should probably go grab Dina from patrol-” Ellie looks down at the non-existent watch on her wrist. “Thanks for breakfast, Joel!”

“Ellie, what are you talking about-”

Joel tries to get her attention her before she can head out, but she jumps up to put her plate in the sink, gives Joel a quick hug, and runs out the door. He shakes his head with a sigh, and you get the feeling this kind of behavior is commonplace.

You laugh because Joel looks so exasperated, but there’s that hollow feeling in the pit of your stomach again. You’d never considered yourself the domestic type, having gone from the Atlanta QZ straight to helping run the Nevada settlement, but what you wouldn’t give to sit right here every morning and watch these two bicker back and forth at each other. Your settlement is your family, but you haven’t been part of this kind of family in a long, long time.

It’s an odd thing to be sitting at the table, knowing you have to leave in two days, and not really wanting to anymore. 

* * *

Joel walks you to the gate Sunday morning to meet your group. It’s a slow walk, a quiet walk, like there’s something heavy in the air. You’ve spent the last two days wandering around Jackson with him, letting him show you the ins and outs of the town like only he knows. You’ve woken up next to him both mornings and gone to bed with him both nights. You’ve sat together with your morning coffee at his breakfast table until you bundle up to go explore the town.

You really, _really_ don’t want to leave. But you have to go.

You say goodbye at the gate, and you kiss him without regard to anyone who might be watching. And, yes, there _are_ people watching.

“Stop in when you come back through,” Joel says, kissing the top of your head.

“I won’t have coffee next time,” you tease. “Still gonna let me in?”

“Maybe if you ask nicely,” he says with a laugh. “I’ll save you some.”

Your group gives you the same kind of smug grin that Ellie had given Joel two days prior, and you don’t even bat an eye. You know where half of them had been laying their heads for the past week, and it certainly wasn’t in the dorms.

Maria had elected to guide them to the gate that morning, again, because the whole town of Jackson was still suspicious of passers-thru. She stops you before you walk out behind them.

“Tommy and I wanted to catch you before you leave,” Maria starts. “He’s on patrol right now, but I’m glad I caught you.”

You shift your backpack to the unoccupied shoulder. The strap had been digging in from the weight of everything you’d traded for over the past week. “Everything okay?”

“We want you to stay here in Jackson.”

It’s not surprising that she wants you to stay, but you _are_ surprised that she actually asked. Your answer doesn’t deter her. “Maria, I can’t leave my group.”

“They’re welcome, too,” Maria says. “All of you, not just the ones you’ve got with you. Send word to your people and we’ll make room.”

You pause because that’s _not_ what you were expecting. You can’t say that the offer doesn’t intrigue you, though. Jackson is a much bigger settlement than yours – easily quadruple the size. Where your group had begun to wane and become sparse over the years, Jackson had thrived. They’d have more than enough room here.

You’re floored, and you can’t hide it. “I have to meet my contact up in Montana, but I’ll have an answer for you when I stop back through. Can I ask where the invitation came from?”

“Your group seems like good people, and we need good people,” she says. “And believe me - you’ve accomplished more in the, what, five days that you’ve known Joel than Tommy and I have been able to accomplish in five years.”

You don’t know how to respond to that.

“Tommy has tried to set him up with every available interested woman in this town, and he shuts him down every time,” Maria continues. “I don’t know what you said to him, but whatever it is, it worked.”

You really, _really_ don’t know how to respond to _that_.

“I know you don’t know me well, but my group will tell you that we’re not all that different.” You look up at your group, their backs disappearing into the distance. “I’ll think about it.” 

She nods. “That’s all I can ask.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, there's gonna be a part three. Kind of needs one, don't you think?
> 
> In other news, I've got a real series with a defined main character in the works so we can give a little more form to this "you." It'll be separate from this one.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I didn't ~completely~ ignore whatever's canon now (only mostly). I just made it better.
> 
> Oh, no worries, part two comes with a chapter two, and chapter two is breakfast. Y'all are gonna like what's on the menu.
> 
> (Story titles are Conway Twitty songs - I'm a fan, and they definitely fit the mood here.)


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